


Sleep Awhile

by allyasavedtheday



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Napping Buddies, POV Alternating, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, aka the best kind of cuddles, and a lil bit of, shh that's a thing, switching POVs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-10 01:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyasavedtheday/pseuds/allyasavedtheday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek decide to take part in some mutually beneficial naptime</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Awhile

**Author's Note:**

> This whole idea originated in my head ages ago then, given Stiles' storyline in 3b, I made a [ post](http://allyasavedtheday.tumblr.com/post/71332759964/i-already-made-a-post-about-this-ages-ago-but) about it and decided I definitely needed to write the thing. You should all know by now my coping mechanism for the pain of the show is to write about these two cuddling
> 
> This more or less disregards 3b canon but keeps the basic premise of the nightmares and the nemeton etc
> 
> The characters, of course, are not mine and this entire headcanon began with the episode of Friends where Ross and Joey take naps together and this was supposed to be as silly and fluffy as that but it's totally not and idk what happened and i'm sorry
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [ allyasavedtheday](http://allyasavedtheday.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> Also Hela made the most wonderful [graphic](http://marriedsterek.tumblr.com/post/74590300594/words-and-fic-credit-to-ciara-3) for this fic, along with the cover for the [ soundtrack](http://8tracks.com/allyyasavedtheday/sleep-awhile) to this fic (tumblr post with track listing can be found [ here](http://allyasavedtheday.tumblr.com/post/76140906547/a-mix-for-stiles-and-derek-to-fall-asleep-to-to) )

The first time it happens, it's an accident.

No, seriously. Stiles is totally not taking responsibility for this one.

In fact, he blames Scott. Yeah, it’s definitely Scott’s fault.

They’re at Derek’s loft, discussing a course of action like they always seem to be doing lately. There’s no specific big bad lurking that they’re aware of but they’re all pretty freakin’ tired of the nightmares and hallucinations so defeat the nemeton it is! They’re poring through some of the old books Derek has managed to salvage over the years and hoping there’s  _something_  of use in them.

Researching, in and of itself, is an exhausting process but it’s even worse when Stiles is running on about three hours of sleep and the words in the book he’s reading are near illegible. He’s only human. It’s not his fault his head starts to droop after a while or that his eyes feel heavy. He barely registers Scott leaving – don’t even ask him why Scott didn’t just shake him fully awake so they could leave together like they always do because he doesn’t know…maybe he trusts Derek not to kill Stiles now or something. The point is, Scott leaves and then he and Derek are alone. And Stiles maybe keeps his eyes open for all of ten seconds before he gives up and lets them drift shut, Derek can yell at him for slacking later.

But Derek doesn’t yell. Or shove him to wake him up. Or complain that Stiles is leaning into him. Instead, Stiles wakes up with his head pillowed on Derek’s shoulder and one of his hands fisted in Derek’s Henley. He’s blissfully toasty and feeling surprisingly well-rested all things considered. That’s when the reality of the situation sinks in.

He fell asleep.  _On Derek_.

Stiles is honestly waiting to get his ass kicked until he feels Derek shifting against him and making a light snuffling noise. That’s when he realises;  _Derek was asleep too_. His arm slowly slips away from around Stiles’ waist – and hey, when did that get there? – while Stiles stiffly sits up. Considering this is probably the best and worst moment in Stiles’ life, it would simply be impossible for the ground to open up and swallow him whole – but when the darach decides to cause a storm and have the entire forest floor cave in, it’s totally possible? Because that’s fair.

He eases away from Derek warily like he’s some wild animal Stiles is afraid of spooking. There’s a profoundly awkward moment where they both stare at each other as if daring the other person to so much as say  _one word_  about what just happened.

Eventually Stiles clears his throat and hastily stands up, “I, uh, I should go.”

Derek gives him a wooden nod and doesn’t say anything when Stiles trips over his own feet in his hurry to escape.

It’s probably for the best.

 

*

They don’t talk about it.

Not that Stiles ever expected they would but it’s weird. He  _slept_  on Derek Hale. That’s not the kind of thing he’s sure he can keep to himself.

It’s fine though, he knows how to be mature – sometimes. They have more pressing issues to worry about anyway. Like how Allison is still being haunted by her dead aunt and how, even though Scott’s starting regain control, his hallucinations are happening more frequently and how Stiles is still barely getting enough sleep to keep him functioning – not that he even enjoys sleep anymore. You know, all that fun stuff.

…But thinking about that just brings him right back to that evening with Derek because the really weird thing about it all is that he  _did_  sleep. No nightmares, no waking up in a cold sweat, nothing. And even if it was only for about an hour, it was probably the best hour’s sleep he’s had in forever.

It doesn’t matter though, it was fluke. He was just too exhausted to dream. That can happen. And Stiles learned a long time ago to be comfortable in whatever position he slept in so, y’know, he would’ve fallen asleep regardless of who was next to him – unless it was Peter, Stiles will not be sleeping anywhere near Peter Hale, he’d like to make that very clear. He just overanalysing as always.

It’s not a big deal.

 

*

The second time it happens Stiles just decides it’s all Derek’s fault for being a deceptively comfy pillow. They’re sitting on the floor, leaning against Stiles’ bed which is probably the most awkward sleeping position ever but Stiles only feels the fuzzy warmth of barely-there consciousness. That is, until Derek startles and pulls away abruptly. It’s a sheer miracle Stiles doesn’t face-plant the floor. Derek’s looking at him with an owlish expression that he only really knows how to answer with a half-hearted shrug.

“Sorry I drooled on your shoulder?” he tries, only to have Derek scowl at him.

“It’s fine,” Derek answers gruffly as he pushes himself to his feet and dusts himself free of Stiles cooties or whatever the hell he’s doing.

“Are you really that bothered about it?” Stiles asks in astonishment. He figures it’s a little awkward, yeah. But mostly, he just thinks the whole thing’s funny. The thought hadn’t even entered his mind that Derek might disagree. “Dude, you know I’m having trouble sleeping lately which tends to result in me falling asleep on everything and everyone-“

“Stiles. I said it’s fine,” Derek says flatly, trying to make a speedy exit to the door.

And no, that’s not happening.

Stiles quickly scrambles to his feet, lurching out to grab hold of his arm. “Wait a second.” Derek reluctantly turns around but he won’t meet Stiles’ eyes when he does. “Y’know whenever I fall asleep on someone, they usually don’t take a nap too,” he says gently, questioningly.

Derek glares at him but when Stiles doesn’t relent he huffs out an irritated sigh, “Maybe I was tired too,” he admits begrudgingly.

“Both times?” Stiles asks because he has no self-preservation instinct.

Derek looks about ready to murder him when he lets out a strangled, “Both times.” He slowly disentangles his arm from Stiles’ grasp, gives him a slight nod and then walks out of the room like he’s restraining himself from running.

 

*

It happens two more times in the next three weeks and each time Stiles just becomes more and more accepting of the fact that he sleeps really well when he’s around Derek and fuck if he knows why. Meanwhile Derek just becomes more and more standoffish like he literally can’t fathom the idea of actually enjoying being in a situation with Stiles where he’s almost vulnerable – as if Stiles didn’t hold his werewolf ass up in a pool for two hours.

The thing is though, being sleep-deprived makes Stiles pretty selfish and he’s just desperate enough to not care. He likes sleeping with Derek and he thinks Derek might actually like sleeping with him too. He can’t describe it. He doesn’t know why he’s more likely to sleep a dreamless sleep when Derek’s around. He doesn’t know why the thought of sleep doesn’t terrify him if it involves Derek. He doesn’t know what  _any_  of this means but he’s exhausted and dammit, if he’s found a way to get a couple of hours shut eye every day he should be allowed to indulge himself.

So he confronts Derek. Like really confronts him, not the sleep-addled protests he usually voices when they wake up and Derek bolts.

He steps cautiously into the loft – he’d purposely chosen to talk to Derek twenty minutes before the others get here so Derek can’t get  _too_  mad at him. Because Stiles is pretty sure Derek doesn’t want anyone to know about this.

“You’re early,” Derek comments, not looking up from the book he’s flicking through.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Stiles replies simply, bravely stepping further into the room and coming to a stop in front of Derek.

“About...?” Derek prompts.

“Our sleeping arrangement,” he answers hesitantly.

Derek drops his book into his lap and looks up at him with a frown, “We don’t have a sleeping arrangement.”

Stiles gives up all pretences of being calm and collected and throws his hands up in exasperation. “Dude,  _please_ ,” he whines. “I’m tired  _all the time_  and for some ungodly reason, I can sleep with you around and don’t even try to lie and say a part of you doesn’t like it too,” he warns with an accusing finger.

Derek almost looks guilty like he always does when one of them brings up the problems the nemeton left them with but he steels his face into a stoic expression that hasn’t been directed at Stiles in a long time.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answers and seriously? That’s the best he can come up with? Derek’s game has suffered since he left.

“Derek, I’m not above getting down on my knees and begging.”

“You know you’re making this sound so much more sexual than it is,” Derek replies offhandedly and Stiles rolls his eyes. An innuendo? Really?  _Really?_  If he thinks that’s enough to side-track Stiles, he’s wrong. “So we fell asleep a couple of times,” he continues. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I don’t care if it doesn’t mean anything!” Stiles snaps. “I’m telling you that I find it easier when you’re around and I was hoping you’d feel enough sympathy for me that you’d let me sleep in your general vicinity every now and again. I’m not asking for your hand in marriage, Jesus Christ.”

Derek’s face goes through a complicated series of emotions that Stiles would probably try to decipher if he wasn’t feeling slightly unhinged. The long-suffering sigh Derek eventually emits is like music to Stiles’ ears because that means he’s won. He’s about to start thanking Derek profusely and suggest a little power nap before the others show up when Derek says, “I’ll think about it.”

Wait, what.

 

*

Stiles doesn’t leave it alone because when does he ever leave anything alone? But he doesn’t go for the direct approach because a little bit of vulnerable honesty clearly isn’t working for Derek. Instead, he looks up sleep remedies online and makes a list. Some are really weird, others are complicated, others, he thinks, would probably result in his imminent death if he even tried them on Derek.

The first trick is the easiest. They’re watching some scary movie he can’t remember the name of and keeping score of who can point out the most inaccuracies because what else are they supposed to do with their vast knowledge of the supernatural? About halfway through he stands up; announcing that he’s getting a drink, and offers to get everyone else a refill. They all mutter out what they want, too focused on the screen to pay him much attention – they get really serious about this game which should work to his advantage.

He hurries off to the kitchen and grabs Cokes for Lydia and Isaac, a 7Up for Allison and a Mountain Dew for Scott. Then he pours Derek a glass of milk, hoping he’s too busy focusing on the movie to hear the microwave. Warm milk’s obvious but it’s a classic.

He heads back into the living room, depositing soda cans into his friends’ laps, before handing Derek his glass. Just as he hoped, Derek’s eyes don’t even leave the TV as he takes the glass from Stiles, mumbling a thanks – he has a competitive streak to rival  _Allison_. Stiles watches him as he unconsciously takes a sip and has to suppress an honest-to-god giggle when Derek’s eyes widen in surprise before he frowns and then his eyes are snapping to Stiles, his face set in deep scowl. It’s incredibly satisfying. Stiles only gives him an innocent shrug and Derek rolls his eyes before turning back to the movie.

He would be discouraged if it weren’t for the fact that Derek keeps drinking the milk.

In the end, he suspects it’s the culmination of a number of things – they ate enough pizza that even the werewolves are on the brink of a food coma, they’ve been sacked out on the couch for hours, more or less not moving, and of course, the trusty warm milk.

Just before they start the fourth movie Stiles hauls himself off the couch, saying it’s time for him to hit the hay. Scott gets up to see him to the door while the others give sleepy goodbyes. Derek doesn’t say anything but Stiles can feel him staring as he puts on his jacket. He simply gives Derek a significant look before he heads for the front door to give Scott a hug goodbye.

When he gets home he smiles briefly at the note his dad left him on the fridge saying he’d see him in the morning before dragging himself upstairs and laboriously changing into his PJs. He practically collapses on his bed, curling into his pillow and closing his eyes.

He’s honestly not surprised when his bedroom door swings open a moment later and Derek’s curtly insisting, “Just this once.”

Stiles grins into his pillow before rolling over, “Whatever you say,” he replies nonchalantly.

Derek glowers at him with absolutely no heat behind it while he shrugs off his leather jacket and tips off his shoes. “Move over.”

Stiles moves obligingly until he’s lying closest to the wall and Derek hesitantly climbs in next to him, all of his false bravado replaced with a sort of guarded uncertainty. He decides to wipe the indecision off Derek’s face, so he rolls back onto his side, propping his head on Derek’s chest and throwing an arm around Derek’s middle because he’s warm and Stiles is  _tired_  and he needs this.

He feels Derek tense up for a second but Stiles waits it out, casually drumming his fingers on Derek’s side. It takes a minute but Derek relaxes and cautiously folds one of his arms over Stiles, mumbling, “I’ll be gone before your dad gets home.”

“’Kay,” Stiles whispers into his t-shirt; already being lulled to sleep by Derek’s even breathing.

True to his word, Derek’s gone in the morning and Stiles wakes up alone. He quashes his down his irrational sense of disappointment and buries his face in Derek’s side of the pillow just for a second, immersing himself in the lingering warmth, before he forces himself to get up.

 

*

It gets pretty easy after that to convince Derek to indulge in a little naptime. He doesn’t need to give big spiels about why this is beneficial for both of them or use weird remedies from the internet. All it really takes is the announcement that he’s going to take a nap or an exaggerated yawn or even just a look in Derek’s direction to find himself enveloped in Derek’s warmth only minutes later.

They don’t really talk about it given that their relationship before this was ‘tentative friendship with a propensity for saving each other’s lives’ at best. But they’ve never really been big on words anyway.

Then again, is there even a word to describe what it feels like when Derek’s curled around him, breathing softly on the back of his neck? Or what it feels like when he’s the one with Derek’s back pressed against his chest and their arms are folded together over Derek’s middle. Or what it feels like when he rests his head on top of Derek’s chest and feels his heartbeat, beating strong and steady underneath him. Or what it feels like to have Derek carefully sprawl on top of him, slotting their legs together and silently reaching out to twine his fingers together with Stiles.

He doesn’t know how to describe what any of that feels like. Mostly because he’s never felt any of it before and he’s far too content when they’re napping to even consider it. Really he only knows how to describe what he feels afterwards. He doesn’t try to push away the disappointment anymore because he’s pretty much accepted that he’s become weirdly dependent on Derek recently and he knows every time he wakes up and Derek’s gone it’s always going to hurt a little more.

He’ll take what he can get though.

 

*

Derek had given up all pretences of pretending he didn’t need Stiles the night he broke several road laws just to put his arms around him for a little while. He’s terrified of the day Stiles actually wants to talk about it because he has no idea what to say, but for now he’s going to let himself want it and try not to think about what it means.

Because, in the end, what they’re doing is so completely harmless. They’re sleeping together in the most innocent sense of the word. And yet, Derek feels more exposed lying next to Stiles and counting his steady heartbeats than he would if they were having sex. Because Derek can detach himself from sex, it doesn’t always  _have_  to mean something. But this- this means something.

This is two people seeking each other out, taking comfort in another warm body, finding solace in the quiet breaths of someone else and being anchored by a touch heavy with sleep.

It’s a lot.

But when Derek comes home one day after a run and finds Stiles sleeping soundly on the couch it becomes bearable.

He takes the fastest shower known to man, quickly drying off and pulling on a pair of sweats while simultaneously trying to dry his hair with a towel. Once his hair is only mildly damp and he’s convinced himself to  _calm the hell down,_ he pads back over to the couch. He stands there, just for a second, watching the way Stiles’ chest rises and falls. He’d look comfortable if it wasn’t for the slightly discontented expression he’s wearing and Derek doesn’t know when he became so attuned to Stiles’ facial expressions.

Carefully, he manoeuvres himself into the space behind Stiles, slipping a hand over Stiles’ waist and leaning his forehead against the back of his neck with a sigh of relief.

He supposes the familiar way Stiles leans into him, even in sleep, should worry him. Instead it makes a soft smile creep its way onto his face as he closes his eyes and buries his face in Stiles’ neck.

 

*

Derek’s never actually seen Stiles have a nightmare. It’s never happened when he’s there. He’s heard about them, mostly second-hand or by Stiles with a casualness that’s far too bitter to come off as the joke he means it to be.

It’s mid-afternoon, Stiles had come over right after school – and Derek still doesn’t know what excuse he’s giving everyone when he sneaks off to the loft or locks himself in his room, waiting for Derek to arrive.  Stiles is taking up the majority of the bed, starfished across the covers while Derek lies next to him on his side, straddling the line between sleep and awake as he watches the dust settle in the dim light of the room.

It’s not very often that he’s awake and Stiles isn’t or vice versa but it’s taking him longer to drift off today. Something feels wrong. Stiles’ heartbeat isn’t necessarily speeding up but it sounds…off and he keeps making these little noises that probably wouldn’t sound so distressed if it wasn’t for the wrinkle between his forehead and the slight downturn of his lips.

When he sees Stiles’ hand tightening in the blanket, he decides enough is enough. It might not be a nightmare but Derek would rather be safe than sorry. Stiles can bitch at him later for waking him up. He reaches out a hand, gently placing it on Stiles shoulder and shaking him slightly.

“Stiles,” he murmurs.

Stiles’ heartbeat picks up and his frown deepens but it seems to be more about the fact that he’s being woken up than anything else.

“Stiles,” Derek repeats, this time louder.

Stiles’ eyelashes flutter for a second and he gasps as if finally realising whatever he’s been seeing behind his eyes for the past half hour wasn’t real. He looks over at Derek then, eyes glassy and vulnerable and swallowing hard. “Thanks,” he says, voice thick with sleep.

Derek nods before smiling weakly and sitting up to haul himself off the bed. “I’ll get you some water,” he mutters. The excuse sounds pathetic even to his own ears but Stiles doesn’t say anything.

He’s not sure if the tiny sigh he hears when he’s about to enter the kitchen is a figment of his imagination or whether it’s Stiles voicing his disappointment in the only way he knows won’t upset the delicate balance of their arrangement.

Either way, Derek feels ashamed.

 

*

Something feels different today.

The minute Stiles had sat down on the bed Derek had curled into him, pressing his face into Stiles’ lap. Stiles sits with his back against the wall now, propped up by pillows, carding his fingers through Derek’s hair, and doesn’t say anything about the way Derek clings to him. He waits patiently, listens to the rain hit off the window and watches the light slowly move across the hardwood floors.

It’s never like this. Derek’s never needy; he’s always hesitant, reserved until Stiles coaxes him into relaxing.

Stiles waits for what feels like hours before he says something. “What’s up?” he asks gently.

It takes a minute. At first Stiles isn’t sure Derek’s even heard him but then, “Jus’ missin’ people,” he replies softly, his voice muffled by the fabric of Stiles’ pants.

Stiles fingers still in his hair. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more openly honest answer from Derek. If he’s being honest, it scares him. “Who?” he prods cautiously.

Derek scoffs but it’s a pathetic kind of sound, “Do you want a list?” It should be sarcastic, instead it just sounds sad. When Stiles doesn’t say anything, just returns to running his fingers through Derek’s hair, he lets out a small sigh and says, “Cora.”

“And Boyd?” Stiles guesses, letting his hand drift down the back of Derek’s neck to squeeze his shoulder.

Derek nods against his thigh, “And Erica,” he murmurs.

“…Laura?” Stiles asks hesitantly.

“Always,” Derek answers resignedly. He sounds so tired, so weary. Sometimes it’s so easy to forget how much Derek’s lost since he never lets anyone else in on moments like this. It’s an overwhelming sign of trust that he’s even  _telling_  Stiles.

And that’s all Stiles’ brain can process before he can’t take it anymore, “Get up here.”

Derek sits up, meets his gaze for a second before Stiles pulls him close. Derek moves willingly, hooking his chin over Stiles’ shoulder and holding him tight. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, keeps his arms locked around Derek and holds on. It’s weird. Stiles has always wondered why hugging someone tightly was supposed to make them feel better. Like the closer you held them, the more okay it’d feel. He knows it  _does_  make him feel better; he’s just not sure why it’s everyone’s natural reaction.

He thinks it’s the sort of thing where you hope that if you pull that person close enough, they can bury beneath your skin and stay safe for a while. Because that’s what you do for people you care about, you let them borrow your skin, you ground them, you remind them that they’re not alone.

“Thanks,” Derek mumbles after a few minutes.

“For what?” Stiles asks confusedly.

“Always coming back.”

If Stiles tears up before he buries his face in Derek’s hair no one needs to know.

 

*

They’re lying on Derek’s bed; for once not actually touching, just lying side by side on their backs, talking about nothing in particular when Derek puts his foot in it.

Stiles had quietly murmured about how much better he’d been feeling since they start taking naps more or less every day. It’s the quiet kind of confession that makes Derek’s heart start speeding up and it makes him nervous. They’re not ready to talk about this yet. Hell, they still haven’t even really acknowledged that  _this_  is a thing they even do. It just happens.

So Derek nods and says, “It’s not a big a deal.”

He can feel Stiles’ eyes on him but he doesn’t turn his head. This is too real. It’s too close to admitting how important this is to him, how important  _Stiles_  is to him. So instead, he shrugs and says, “It’s not like it means anything.”

Stiles sits up instantly, staring down at him with an incredulous frown on his face, “Are you serious?”

That should’ve been Derek’s first clue that he should shut the fuck up but being honest with people about his feelings hasn’t really gotten him far before. “What?”

“How the hell can you say this doesn’t mean anything?” Stiles demands.

“But it doesn’t.” Derek’s mind is screaming at him right now, telling him to shut up, to backtrack, to apologise. But he can’t get the words out.

He gets to see the briefest look of hurt flash across Stiles’ face before he closes himself off, straightens his back and pushes the covers off his legs. It isn’t until he’s climbing over Derek, stuffing his feet into his shoes and heading for the door that he finally finds his voice.

“Stiles.”

He stays lying on the bed, isn’t ready for Stiles to see the look on his face yet, but he can hear the exact moment Stiles stops and waits expectantly.

“Stay,” he requests.

Stiles lets out a sigh like a defeat and Derek waits five excruciating seconds before Stiles is catapulting himself back onto the bed, covering Derek’s body with his own.

“I hate you,” he grumbles into Derek’s t-shirt, sounding more like a grumpy child than someone who’s genuinely angry.

Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’ back, urging him to lean in closer as if it were even possible. “Hate you too,” he whispers into Stiles’ hair even as he smiles.

Stiles picks his head up off Derek’s chest and looks at him with narrowed eyes.

Derek swallows hard when he realises he can’t look away and slips one of his hands off Stiles' back to smooth through his hair. “It means something,” he promises.

The smile Stiles gives him is soft, almost shy, as he nods his head slightly before going back to using Derek’s chest as a pillow.

It means something.

 

*

There’s an attack – when is there not an attack?  _Demon ninjas?_  Seriously? – but for once, it goes somewhat smoothly. That is to say, the werewolves get roughed up a little but the damage is minimal. Stiles takes a hit to his shoulder before Scott ushers him away from the fray and spends the subsequent hours with his hand plastered to Stiles’ shoulder, taking away the pain. It takes Stiles two hours to convince Scott he’s fine and that he doesn’t need him to watch over the house for the night. It then takes a further hour to convince his dad that he’s okay.

It takes forty minutes of lying awake in bed to convince himself that he’s not okay.

It takes two minutes to fumble with his phone and call Derek’s number.

It takes three words. “I can’t sleep.”

It takes one beat of silence and then, “I’ll be right there.”

True to his word, Derek is pushing up the window and climbing through no less than ten minutes later.

“You can use the front door, you know,” Stiles muses, curling onto his side to watch Derek securely lock the window behind him. Derek drops his jacket on Stiles’ desk chair and kicks off his shoes while huffing out a small laugh.

“Pretty sure your dad is a light enough sleeper to hear his own front door opening in the middle of the night when all the occupants of this house should be asleep,” he answers rationally with a triumphant grin.

Stiles rolls his eyes, biting his lip against the smile that’s threatening to break through. Derek’s expression softens as he pads over to the bed, lifting the covers and climbing in. Stiles shuffles back a bit to give him room but as soon as Derek’s settled he moves into his space again. For all the times they’ve shared a bed, a couch, even a floor, they don’t sleep face to face. It’s always been just on the side of too intimate for either of them to handle.

But Stiles needs this tonight. Just this once. He’s about to promise Derek he won’t make it weird in the morning if Derek just lets him have this but Derek doesn’t say anything. He presses their foreheads together and Stiles has to close his eyes against the swell of emotion he feels when Derek’s nose brushes his. He fists his hands in Derek’s t-shirt, sighing in relief when Derek wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer and tangling their legs together.

It’s- it’s probably the most exposed Stiles has ever been with another person and it’s overwhelming and it’s soothing and it’s  _indescribable_.

“Are you okay?” Derek whispers into the miniscule space between their mouths.

Stiles nods, brushing their noses together again, “I am now.”

He can’t see Derek’s eyes in the dark but he knows they’re open, knows Derek’s probably eyeing him like he’s trying to understand what that means but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care because in the end, all Derek says to him is, “Go to sleep,” in a way that almost sounds affectionate and that’s all Stiles needs.

 

*

Derek never stays. It’s his rule. If they’re napping on the couch it’s different, less meaningful, so he doesn’t really mind if they wake up together. But if they share a bed Derek always makes sure he’s up and moving about the loft or gone from Stiles’ room before he wakes up. He doesn’t even know why he bothers; maybe it’s to try and keep some semblance of the belief that this isn’t as important as it is.

He doesn’t leave this morning. He can’t. Not with the way Stiles’ heart had been beating a mile a minute last night and the way he’d clung to Derek like he was afraid he was going to disappear if he let go.

So this morning, he stays.

And he absolutely hates himself for ever leaving before. Because he can’t believe he’d ever be stupid enough to miss this. Miss getting to watch Stiles wake up. They separated a bit in sleep but not much; just enough to give each other some breathing room.

Derek’s on his back, head turned to the left to watch Stiles. Stiles is on his stomach, head bent close to Derek’s on the pillow with his arm strewn gently across Derek’s chest. He can’t help lifting a hand and brushing the hair back off Stiles’ forehead, running his fingers along the crevices of Stiles’ cheeks made by the wrinkles in the pillows.

He wonders idly when “let me sleep in your general vicinity for a while” became an unbearable need to be close, to reach out and touch, to just be  _here_.

It’s terrifying because it’s them and they argue all the time and it’s almost impossible for them not to snark at one another and they’ve seen each other vulnerable far too many times. And most of all, because they still haven’t talked about what this means; just acknowledged that it means  _something_.

It’s a mess and it’s complicated but he doesn’t know what he’d do without it.

 

*

Stiles wakes up to his dad gently shaking him awake. “I’m going to work, kiddo. You gonna be okay?”

“Dad, I told you last night. I’m fine,” Stiles insists sleepily, scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

The sheriff seems to realise Stiles is fighting a losing battle against keeping his eyes open so he smiles and nods, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. You’re still stopping by the station for lunch, right?”

“Mhm,” Stiles nods, stretching lazily. His dad gives him one last squeeze on the shoulder before leaving. Once his bedroom door’s closed, Stiles blinks the sleep out of his eyes and stares at the empty but almost warm space beside him. He’d been hoping after last night-

A sound from the corner of his room alerts him and he looks over to see Derek silently slipping out of his closet and gently closing the door behind him.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks confusedly.

“I thought we could both use a little more sleep today,” Derek replies as he walks around to his side of the bed. “Unless you want me to leave?” he adds uncertainly.

“No!” Stiles says quickly, lifting a hand that’s still heavy with sleep to reach out for Derek. “I just- I thought you’d left.”

Derek slides back under the covers smoothly, settling back into the position he’d been in before, opening his arms for Stiles to curl closer. “Not this time,” he says with a soft smile.

 

*

Stiles can admit he and Derek aren’t exactly…subtle when it comes to sneaking off for their naps but even  _he_  didn’t anticipate this. He’s lying on the couch, one arm dangling off the side, his other folded together with Derek’s. He’s blissfully comfortable honestly, relishing in slowly easing himself back into the land of the living as Derek snuffles against the back of his neck, burying closer for a minute before he starts to wake himself up too. Stiles hums contentedly as he feels Derek’s smile press into his neck.

From somewhere above them someone clears their throat.

Derek’s thumb which had been drawing circles on the back of Stiles’ hand freezes. Stiles is pretty sure he stops breathing. Slowly, he turns his head to the right, feeling Derek do the same behind him.

Standing at the end of the couch is the pack. Isaac has his arms folded and looks bored, Lydia’s giving him the most triumphant, suggestive smirk he’s ever seen, Allison’s looking like she’s finding it extremely difficult to suppress her grin and Scott is just full on beaming at them.

Oh no.

There’s a single moment of still before Derek immediately lets go of him, pushing away so they can both sit up. They don’t look at each other; they don’t even touch once they’ve righted themselves on the couch. Stiles looks guiltily up at Scott who looks just short of giggling with glee. “I knew it!” he exclaims.

“It’s not what it looks like?” Stiles says feebly, instantly regretting the words when he feels Derek stiffen next to him. No one says anything after that but their looks are enough to suggest they don’t believe him.

He decides to save them all further embarrassment/awkwardness/discomfort by jumping up off the couch and grabbing hold of Scott’s arm, “Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”

Scott gives him a peculiar look but allows himself to be dragged out of the loft. Stiles doesn’t even dare look back at Derek or any of the others. The situation’s awful enough as it is without seeing that.

Once they’ve pulled out of the parking lot Scott speaks up, “So you and Derek…”

Stiles groans, “Please don’t-“

“I totally called it, you know,” Scott says casually. He’s the only person on the entire planet that can talk to Stiles about this and actually not sound like he’s teasing him. He can see the existential crisis Stiles is clearly having so he’s taking this seriously. Stiles loves his best friend, he really does.

“We’re just sleeping together,” Stiles mutters, narrowing his eyes at the road ahead of him.

“Nobody ever _just_  sleeps together, Stiles,” Scott says knowingly. “Especially not you.”

“Dude, you and I sleep together all the time,” he counters.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Scott’s eyes widen in astonishment and his mouth drop open a little bit. “Okay please tell me we’ve been talking about two different variations of “sleeping together” or else I’m gonna need you to explain a few things.”

Stiles nearly crashes the car when Scott’s words sink in. His head snaps to Scott’s direction in bewilderment, “You meant  _sex?”_  he demands shrilly.

“Eyes on the road!” Scott yells, like he totally wouldn’t survive if the car flipped over. “And yes, I meant sex,” he sighs, relieved, when Stiles faces forward again.

“Derek and I aren’t having sex!” he insists hysterically.

 “Then what are you doing?” Scott asks gently.

“Sleeping together.”

“Gonna have to be a little bit clearer there, buddy.”

Stiles huffs, “ _Napping_  together,” he clarifies. “I don’t dream when I’m with Derek, I don’t know why.”

He feels Scott’s eyes on him for a long time but he keeps his gaze steadfastly on the road. He doesn’t want to know what expression is on his best friend’s face. “I thought you were getting better,” Scott says quietly. He sounds guilty.

Stiles chances a glance in his direction and sees Scott staring down at his hands.

“Hey,” Stiles grabs his hand for a moment to get him to look up. “I am. Napping during the day is really helping.”

“I’m sorry,” Scott mumbles.

Stiles frowns, “For what?”

“I thought your nightmares had stopped.”

That’s it. Stiles isn’t doing this. He pulls onto the shoulder of the road and turns to face Scott. “I’m  _fine_ ,” he says assuredly.

But Scott just looks even more miserable, “ _I_  should be the one that’s there for you when you can’t sleep, that comforts you when you wake up. That’s what best friends do.”

“Yeah and you’ve been doing that since we were five,” he replies softly. Scott smiles weakly but he doesn’t look any better. “…Maybe my feelings for Derek are a little bit more than platonic,” he concedes eventually, causing Scott to look up. “Maybe that’s part of why I go to him.”

Scott’s smile is small but genuine, “I think he likes you too, y’know?”

Stiles laughs lightly, “I can’t believe you thought Derek and I were having sex.”

“What was I supposed to think?” Scott asks, some of the animation returning to his voice. “Every time one of you left the room, the other would scuttle after them like ten seconds later. And you’d both always come back all rumpled with your hair a mess and these dopey grins plastered on your faces.”

Which- oh. Whoops.

“Okay fine, I’ll give you that,” he huffs. “But we’re still not having sex.”

“I believe you,” Scott laughs softly, his face turning serious again a moment later. “Next time you have a nightmare, you tell me.”

“Scott-“

“No. Stiles, promise me,” he begs, giving Stiles a beseeching look and leaning forward to grab hold of his wrist. “I need to know when you’re okay and when you’re not.”

“Because you’re the alpha?” Stiles asks with a weak laugh.

“No,” Scott shakes his head like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Because you’re my best friend and I love you.”

Stiles startles, feeling his eyes starting to water. He knows Scott loves him; doesn’t need to hear him say it to believe it, but his chest still feels tight nonetheless. “Okay,” he promises, voice hoarse.

 

*

He doesn’t talk to Derek for three days. Instead he constantly has Lydia and Allison in his ear, telling him they’re still convinced he and Derek slept together – the  _other_  “slept together” – and Scott encouraging him to take the leap and tell Derek how he feels. Which would be great, if he actually knew how he felt and if Derek wasn’t avoiding him.

He doesn’t sleep.

Scott helps. He lets Stiles put his head on his shoulder and doze off when they’re watching TV. He stays over and excitedly tells Melissa and the Sheriff they’re having a slumber party when they ask so they’ll laugh and brush him off. He sits with Stiles in the dark, stays close so Stiles will feel him there and feel safe enough to go to sleep. He’s never been so appreciative of his best friend in his life.

But there’s a quiet voice in his head that tells him the reason he still feels like crap isn’t because he’s sleep deprived; it’s because he misses Derek.

On the fourth day, he gathers up the courage to drive himself over to Derek’s loft. It’s not until he’s waiting for Derek to open the door that the nerves set in. He considers taking out his key and opening the door himself but he feels rooted to the spot. He’s paralysed.

After a moment though, the door’s sliding back and Derek’s head is appearing from behind it. “Hi,” he says blankly.

“I need to talk to you,” Stiles says with a hint of desperation in his voice.

Derek nods slowly, before stepping back to allow Stiles through, “Okay,” he answers warily.

Stiles brushes past him, walking into the apartment and stopping at a random spot. He turns back around just as Derek comes to a stop about a foot away from him.

They stare at each other for a minute. Derek’s trying to keep his face expressionless but Stiles can see him now. He can see the cracks beneath the façade. Derek’s good at giving nothing away but his eyes betray him. They track every miniscule movement Stiles makes intensely and Stiles swallows hard before meeting them dead on.

“Y’know all Scott and the others have talked about since they walked in on us is about how sure they were we were having sex…” he trails off, losing a bit of his nerve with the way the tips of Derek’s ears flush pink as soon as Stiles mentions sex.

“It got me thinking…about- about why we  _weren’t_ doing that.” Stiles’ face is definitely heating up now but he forces himself to keep going. “Because, I mean, it doesn’t seem like much of a step up from what we’re doing now when you think about it.”

Derek’s face stays stoic as ever but his eyes are blazing.

Stiles laughs once, it comes out bitter and he hates it. “…And then I realised it’s because we don’t talk about this. We don’t say what this is between us; we don’t say what it means.”

“It’s important,” Derek answers quietly. And if it were any other moment Stiles would probably kiss the breath out of him for even admitting that out loud but not right now. Instead, he just puts up with the burning behind his eyes and takes a step closer. “No! Don’t just say it’s important and expect that to be it.” A tear slips out and he hastily wipes it away but Derek sees. Derek always sees.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” Stiles confides. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to be getting from this. What’s in this for us? Physical comfort? Feelings for each other? Friendship? ...Love?”

The look on Derek’s face makes him crack a little bit. It’s like all thoughts about keeping his face blank get surprised out of him. He’s looking at Stiles questioningly, as if he’s finally letting himself think of Stiles like he wants to.

Stiles sighs and rubs at his forehead. He needs Derek to give him something here. “What do you  _want_ , Derek?”

In two strides, Derek is stepping into Stiles’ space, clutching his face between his hands and pressing their lips together with intent. Stiles’ eyes fly open wide before drifting shut as Derek’s grip on him loosens, becomes softer; like a caress. Stiles’ hands travel up of their own accord, one grasping at Derek’s arm while the other wraps around his neck, drawing him closer.

It’s… _dizzying,_  feeling Derek’s lips push against his, feeling his thumb gently slide over the hinge of Stiles’ jaw, being pressed so close that he swears he can feel Derek’s heartbeat against his own.

Derek lets go with a heavy breath, barely pulling back an inch. “This,” he answers breathlessly against Stiles’ lips. “I want this.  _You_. Whatever I can get.”

“Yeah,” Stiles replies, mouth dry, mind hazy. “Yeah. I want that.”

He feels, more than sees, Derek quirk up his lips and god if that isn’t the most incredible feeling in the entire world.

“Go to sleep with me,” Derek requests, plastering his forehead against Stiles’ and closing his eyes.

“Wake up with me?” Stiles murmurs.

Derek eyes snap open and he ducks his head, mostly just managing to press his forehead against Stiles’ cheek before nodding.

Stiles wakes up wrapped in Derek’s sheets, to the sound of rain pattering on the window, to the cozy, just-right temperature of Derek’s loft, to an empty space next to him.

He’s about to bolt upright in a panic when he feels the bed dip behind him and the covers lifting. Derek presses right up against his back, hooking his chin over Stiles’ shoulder and placing a kiss on his jaw.

“Don’t leave,” Stiles mumbles, voice addled with sleep.

Derek’s hand finds his and he knots their fingers together, “Not goin’ anywhere,” he promises.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So Ciara, did you really write 7500 words about sterek napping?  
> Why yes, yes I did.


End file.
